


wild geese

by peachesandlesbians



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Multi, POV Second Person, Tenderness, it’s about slowly learning to get better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians
Summary: A look at Emily’s newfound life through her therapy appointments.
Relationships: Emily Charlton/Andrea Sachs, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115





	wild geese

**Author's Note:**

> there is some discussion about having an eating disorder and having anxiety, though i tried to keep the descriptions light. i used google a lot lmao, so if i got any information wrong, that's 100% my fault. but there's a happy ending (as always), so enjoy!

**I.**

One step into your therapist’s waiting room and you hate it already. The walls are painted a too drab coffee colour, and the multiple motivational posters hanging there do nothing to soothe your high anxiety. Adding a poster of the latest cover of _Runway_ , for instance, could do much to improve the decor, not to mention your happiness. 

You shift in your uncomfortable seat (another point against this place) and take a look around the room again, being careful not to make eye contact with the receptionist. She’s much too nice. And loud. And annoying. 

Plus, you would be mortified if she took a closer look at you—and then figure out you were Miranda Priestly and Andrea Sachs’ partner. You could just imagine the headlines Page Six would run: _Unhinged Ex-Assistant Captures The Dragon Lady!_ or some other utterly ridiculous nonsense. If that happened, Miranda would certainly be furious, not to mention the public and personal backlash because you’re not even out yet and everything’s going to be a mess—

“Good afternoon, Miss Charlton. I’m Dr. Karina Khan. I apologize for making you wait; I had to tidy up a bit.” A woman walks into the room and she (you’re pleased to say) has some knowledge of fashion. A dark pink Zara dress along with brown Jimmy Choos gets your nod of approval. 

“It’s fine. Call me Emily.” You shake her outstretched hand and shift on your feet. “Well, shall we go in?”

Dr. Khan isn’t put-off by your brusqueness, thankfully, and inclines her head. Her eyes are brown, you note, and warm. Just like Andy’s. That thought releases most of the stress in your shoulders. Andy brought you here; she would never let you down. 

With that bit of knowledge bolstering you, there’s no hesitation in your stride to the navy blue couch sitting in the middle of the room. The dark oak furniture—bookshelves, a table, a desk neatly in the corner—and the lush green plants compliment each other nicely. Even if you left this place humiliated, you could say this Dr. Khan had an eye for interior design. 

Well, if you badmouthed her to Miranda, that was what she would probably do for the rest of her life. 

“Would you like some tea?” 

Tea? Hmm. Perhaps she isn’t so bad, after all. And this seat is much more comfortable than the one outside. “Just black.”

As Dr. Khan rummages around, you sniff the air. There’s something decidedly sweet floating around, and it makes you sink back into the couch. Maybe Andy was right when she said this place would be good for you.

“So, Emily, what brings you here?”

Just like that, the serenity that filled you a moment ago disappears. You grip the cup she offers and bite your lip. To be honest, where do you start? Are you supposed to spill your darkest secrets to a stranger? Burst into tears so she would have much to write about?

“We don’t have to talk about it right away if you don’t want to.”

“We don’t?” The relief in your voice must be palpable, for Dr. Khan quietly chuckles. 

“No. Some people have no problem talking right away”—at your barely disguised shudder, she raises an eyebrow—“but others might require a couple of sessions to open up. Discussing your troubles with a stranger is certainly odd, isn’t it?”

You let out a breathy chuckle, the lump in your throat easing somewhat. “It certainly is. I’ve never done this before. This talking thing. I barely talk with my—” You bite down on your tongue, hard. Which Dr. Khan notices, unfortunately. 

“With your?”

Would dropping “my partners” be too much for this first meeting? Dating one woman is—was—strange to you, but dating two women, two well-known women? 

“This is all confidential, right?”

“Yes, it is. And I want you to know, Emily, my job is to help you. That means being open-minded and kind. You don’t have to hold yourself back because of me.”

“Right. Well, Andy, my partner, she’s …” You fumble with your words for a bit. There isn’t a way to describe someone like her. No, there’s no way to describe _her_. “She’s good. She’s a good person. She’s smart, driven, funny, and so kind. And I still can’t tell her about my …” 

“Your worries?”

You nod. That sounds neutral, though what bothers you goes deeper than worry. “I want to. I do. But it’s like the words just get clogged in my throat. I don’t want to ruin our relationship because of this.”

“Was she the one who brought up therapy?”

You nod, watching as Dr. Khan scribbles something down. Your shoulders draw together, and you take another sip of tea, hoping it’ll warm your bones. It does. Not as much as Andy’s hugs do, but it helps. 

“Maybe it’ll be easier to discuss your worries with her if you discuss them with me first.” You glance up. No stress using the female pronoun. Well. 

You shrug, letting your eyes fall back to the floor. “I, well, maybe.”

“Maybe later, hmm?”

Heat rushes to your face, your stutter only part of the reason. “Yeah. Later. Sorry.” The apology falls from your lips though you don’t know quite _why_ you’re apologizing.

“There’s no need to apologize.” The slightest hint of chastisement enters her voice, and for some silly reason, it comforts you. Stuttering, evasiveness, and being blunt does nothing to her pleasantness, but an unwarranted apology does. “Besides, you’ve done very well for our first session together.”

“No, I didn’t do much …”

“Yes, you did.” Dr. Khan smiles. “You told me about your Andy, who sounds like a lovely woman, and you did open up about some of your fears. That’s great progress.”

You’re silent for a moment before you blurt out: “I have another partner. Well, Andy does too. I mean, we’re all together. It’s the three of us in a relationship. Together.” Letting Dr. Khan assume it’s just you and Andy feels _wrong,_ like an itch you can’t quite scratch. It’s you, Andy, and Miranda. A team. A trio.

“That’s nice. It sounds like you’re surrounded by people who love you.” Her calm tone makes the lump in your throat grow. You don’t know how to deal with this—being accepted—without getting emotional. It should be easy, you know that, but it’s not. Not for you.

“I think so.” 

“Would you like to tell me about your other partner? What are they like?”

“She’s like a tornado. Even before she steps into a room, she makes everyone lose their mind because she’s that powerful. Fierce would be a great word to describe her. So would beautiful and ambitious. But she does have a secret soft side, though I would never tell her I said that.” You share a laugh, and that warm feeling you associate with drinking good tea floods your body. 

“She sounds wonderful, too.”

“Yeah.” You know you should stop the stupid grin that’s crossing your face, but you don’t. You can’t. “She is.”

“What’s her name?”

“Miranda.” A spark of recognition flashes in Dr. Khan’s eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. 

“See how well you’re doing?” She grins, waving her hand in the air. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise!”

A weight has been lifted off your shoulders. “Alright.” You offer an awkward smile. “I won’t.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? If not, we can just chat and get to know each other for the rest of our session.”

In your heart, you know the answer is a resounding yes. It’s a _please, help me get better_. But you force that desperation down and shake your head instead. “Next time.”

“That’s fine. You’re doing great, Emily. So tell me, what do you do for a living?” 

You brighten up. That, you can talk nonstop about. So, with great gusto, you launch into an explanation as your new job as Creative Director in the one and only _Runway_.

* * *

Andy’s already waiting to open the car door for you. Her simple gesture knocks the wind out of you. At that moment, you know without a doubt that if you and her were dropped into a dark room filled to the brim with people, you would always be able to find her. 

“Hey, Em.” She flashes you her signature smile and like always, your heart starts hammering. 

“Hey, you.” Not the most clever you’ve come up with, but after talking for an hour, you’re exhausted. To make up for it, you intertwine your hands (and god, it seems like a perfect fit). But Andy brings up your joined hands to her lips for a tender kiss, and the love that rushes through your body is almost too much to handle. Almost. 

(There are no words except you really, _really_ love this woman.)

You get into the car, instantly smiling when you see Miranda turning her head to look at you. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi.” 

She reaches out to caress your cheek, making you relax fully for the first time today. With a gentle laugh, Miranda moves her arm so now you’re slumped against her shoulder, her cradling you. “Tired, dear heart?”

You smile. That’s one of your favourite pet names. “Very.”

“I bet. I would be, too.” Andy finds your hand again, squeezing. 

You make a noncommittal noise and close your eyes, inhaling the sultry smell of Miranda’s new perfume. She, in turn, tightens her grip, and it feels like she’s protecting you from the world. 

“Would you like to talk about it, darling?” Everything in this moment is _soft_. Andy’s hand is soft. Miranda’s embrace is soft. Her voice is soft, so soft and coaxing. 

“I talked about you and Andy for a bit.”

“Really? Did you mention my dashing good looks?” 

You manage to punch Andy’s shoulder without opening your eyes. “That must have slipped my mind. I did make sure to mention how annoying you are, though.”

“Hey!” 

This time, you do open your eyes and smirk at her. “And I didn’t say that about Miranda, just you.”

Andy makes another outraged noise before Miranda quiets the both of you. “I take it went well, then?” 

You nod. “Yeah,” you mumble, “it was nice.”

“I’m glad.” It didn’t sound like much, but hidden in those three words is a myriad of care. If you have any doubt, it’s erased when you catch a glimpse of the way Miranda’s eyes soften when she looks at you. 

“Me too.” On a whim, you lean up to brush Miranda’s lips with yours before settling back in her embrace. Before you fall asleep, you dimly hear Andy murmuring something. Whatever she says, it makes Miranda nod and kiss your temple. You’ll ask her about it later, but for now, you rest. You deserve it, you think.

**II.**

“It’s good to see you, Emily!” 

With a smile, you shake Dr. Khan’s hand. You’re not ashamed to admit you’re looking forward to this session. Slightly wary, but also somewhat excited. “You too.”

Even though you’ve been here only once, you sit on the couch and recline like it’s your favourite one at home. 

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Same as last time?”

“Of course.”

“You seem chipper today.” Dr. Khan hands you your cup of tea. “Anything good happen this week?”

“Yes, actually, I told Andy and Miranda about our first session. They were pleased it went well.”

“I’m happy to hear that. And what about you?” She shifts, getting comfortable in her chair. 

“It was nice, surprisingly. I felt better afterward.”

“See, this isn’t so bad, huh?”

“No.” You smile. “Not so bad at all.”

“Is there anything specific you’d like to discuss with me today?”

“Actually, yes.” You hunch over before remembering Miranda’s lecture on body posture. No matter what position you’re in, you can’t get rid of the knot in your stomach. “I have trouble eating.” You mumble it under your breath, and hot shame courses through you as you start rocking back and forth. You really don’t want to do this. 

“Pardon?”

“I have trouble eating!” You hiss, glaring as your hackles rise. “Have you lost your hearing?” 

“No, I haven’t, you just spoke too quietly.” There’s no anger from Dr. Khan like you expect, and it only makes you feel worse. 

You wring your hands, biting down on your lip before glancing up. “Sorry. That was mean. I know.” 

“It’s alright.” Her serene smile comes back with a dash of amusement before she sobers. “Thank you for telling me.”

  
“You’re not that welcome.” That brings a laugh out of Dr. Khan. 

“You’re quite prickly today, aren’t you?”

“I’m always prickly.” You smirk. “Just ask Andy and Miranda.” You sober as the thought of the names brings up memories of why you’re here. 

_“Em, this isn’t right. It’s not. I’m worried about you.”_

And later: _“You need to eat. I can not—will not—see you withering away in front of my eyes.”_

“Where did you go just now?”

You shake your head, trying to get rid of your lingering doubts. You have to do this. For them, if not for yourself. “Sorry, I was thinking about why Andy and Miranda wanted to come here.”

“And why was that?”

“They were worried. About me.” Your voice is hushed now, barely hearable even in the silence of the room. Your quiet feels right. You’re telling a secret, and secrets deserve to be whispered. “I never thought my eating habits were going to kill me or anything, but they certainly seemed to think so.”

“It doesn’t need to kill you to be harmful.”

This is the part you hate the most. No, this is everything you hate most. Talking about your feelings, being vulnerable, giving up control. At least you have the willpower not to cry. “Is it bad that I like not eating?”

“It’s not bad at all.” Dr. Khan’s kindness washes over you like a wave, cooling your searing embarrassment. “But maybe you should consider why you like not eating and we can go from there.”

You sigh, intertwining your fingers. Not for the first time, you wish Andy was here to eloquently explain your feelings in the way only she does. “You know I work in the fashion industry. It’s a cutthroat business. I have to be skinny to be beautiful. That’s just the way it is. Anything bigger than a size four is fat and ugly.” You wince. That’s not true anymore. Not to you. Not since Andy walked into your life. You would rather die than think a negative comment toward her appearance. “And maybe I’m a horrible person for saying this, but I want to be beautiful. I do.” You slam your eyes shut, trying with all your willpower to stop tears from falling. It’s pathetic, you know. You’re pathetic. But you want to be beautiful so badly because you want to be liked. You want to be loved, more than anything. 

In between sobs, you tell Dr. Khan exactly that, and her response makes you cry harder. “Oh, Emily. Don’t you know you’re already loved?”

* * *

The walk to your lovers seems to never end. Andy smiles when she sees you, but it fades when she sees how red and blotchy your face is. You sniff, pulling your coat closer around you, almost crushing the paper in your hand Dr. Khan gave you.

  
Andy doesn’t say anything when you pass her, but she does give you a gentle smile, laying a comforting hand on the small of your back. 

It’s not your intention to lean toward Miranda like last time, but you do anyway. It seems she was already planning to comfort you, which makes you feel like you’re going to cry again. You probably shouldn’t accept her reassurance; you need to be strong. But Andy uncurls your fist, taking your paper with her, and you fall into Miranda’s arms. “Hey, what’s this?”

“Homework,” you mutter. It’s a tough assignment. You can’t bear to look at it right now.

“Oh.” It’s quiet now, and you can practically see Andy reading over the paper. It’s something called the “Supermarket Exercise.” You’re supposed to imagine yourself walking through a supermarket and writing down forbidden foods. Then, every food should get a ranking from one to ten on how much you don’t want to eat them. And even though you desperately _don’t_ want to, Dr. Khan is making you eat one of the foods rated a three or four. You know it shouldn’t be too hard to eat some bloody peanut butter or half a cookie, but those foods make your stomach riot and bad thoughts flood your brain. You can’t think about that now. 

Andy tries to take your hand, but you shake her off, unwilling to deal with her pity. “You’re going to be alright, Em.” What surprises you is not her words, but the fierceness that laces her tone. This isn’t some half-hearted pity, no, she really believes what she’s saying. The passion always present in her articles is directed at you now. “I promise. Miranda and I are going to help you. You’re not going to do this alone.”

You break down. Little sobs come out of your mouth, but your shoulders shake silently. Miranda reaches out to play with your strands of hair, offering gentle kisses to the top of your head. She’s so tender it hurts. 

Meanwhile, Andy scoots closer to you, sharing her warmth, and takes hold of your hand. This time, you let her. “It’ll be alright, baby.”

“Our Andrea is correct, dear heart. I love you most ardently, so I will be with you on this journey. I cannot experience everything you do, but when you need me, I will be there. That is my promise.” 

Miranda has this way of saying one word every hour, then out of nowhere, completely sweeping you off your feet with grand declarations of love. Usually, it makes you feel all warm inside, but now you just cry more. You’re ruining her blouse, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

You somehow always find yourself being comforted by your lovers, and you always are somewhat embarrassed afterward, but this is the time it’ll change. You need them, after all. You need them like you need water and oxygen—perhaps even more. So how can you hate something you need?

You can’t.

**III.**

“Good afternoon, Emily.” Dr. Khan greets you with her signature smile, and although you want to get straight to the point, you smile back.

“Good afternoon.”

You go through your usual routine, taking a seat, waiting for your tea, already getting lost in your thoughts. In your left hand is your homework, and you unconsciously run your finger over the edge of it. The slight sting of pain helps ground you, and you barely wait a second for Dr. Khan to sit down before you start talking. “Hey, Doctor, I’m going to talk a lot, is that alright?”

“I think that’s the goal of our sessions, so yes.”

“So. I finished your homework. To be honest, it was one of the worst assignments in my life. There was just so much food I had to write down and rate.” You bite your lip. “Andy and Miranda wanted to help, which made everything harder. I appreciated their offer, but I just felt so ashamed. Normal people aren’t afraid of cheeseburgers and eggs, for bloody sake.”

“Did you let them help?”

“Yes,” you reply miserably. “It was embarrassing, but we all sat together and didn’t get back up until we finished the list. It’s not exactly what I would call bonding time.”

Dr. Khan smiles gently. “Sounds somewhat like that to me.”

“It wasn’t. I had to have my hand held the whole time like a child.” You scowl, trying to ignore the voice in your head that whispered things like “pathetic.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with getting help, Emily.”

All the anger bleeds out of you. “I know. Logically, I do. But it still feels wrong somehow. I had to be really coaxed to eat food besides cheese cubes this past week. ”

“Everyone needs help sometimes; it’s normal. Sometimes asking for help can be a great thing. There can be great benefits to trusting someone you love, like your Andy and Miranda.”

You smile. “Well, I did trust them. And we had peanut butter to eat, along with some celery. It was difficult, but I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m not dead.”

“That’s excellent! The one thing you need to remember is that you have a relationship with food. You need it, and it’s up to you if that relationship is good or not. Take care of your body because it’s trying to take care of you.” 

The rest of the appointment passes by in a blur. Not that you aren’t paying attention (you are) but Dr. Khan’s encouragement and gentle rebuttals seem to wash over you, and all you can do is sit and take it all in. 

* * *

“Hey, baby.” Andy, dressed in a grey Burberry trench coat and True Religion jeans, looks an incredible mix of sultry and charming at the same time. In other words: wow. You would never tell her this, but you’re a first-hand witness to her fashion evolution, for a lack of better words. 

But maybe you don’t need words to show that you’re proud of her. 

“Look at you today.” You eye Andy up and down, running your hands up to her collar before adjusting it, pecking her lips. “Not bad.”

The way Andy grins, though, is as if you kneeled to the ground and proclaimed her savior of the universe. Proud, happy, and a smidge of embarrassment. “Thanks. I thought you might like it.”

“I love it.” Your eyes meet hers, and the warmth there melts your defenses and inhibitions. That's what you blame it on, anyway, when “I love you” slips out a second later. 

The pleased and surprised look in Andy’s eyes makes your hesitation disappear. “I love you so much, you know?”

“I know.” You do. Words and actions always seem to come easily to Andy, but for you, it’s harder. You try, and during moments like these, you succeed. That’s what counts. 

“You seem to have had quite the love-fest with our Andrea.” Miranda sniffs, glancing your way when you enter the car.

You grin. A month ago, hell, a week ago, you would have never dared to tease Miranda, but now? You dare. “ ‘Love-fest?’ How pedestrian of you, Miranda.”

Miranda simply rolls her eyes. “Please. I hardly know what that word means.”

“Are you jealous, sweetheart?” Andy is so brave, too brave, you don’t know how she does it. But that’s one of the reasons why you love her. 

“Absolutely not,” Miranda hisses, turning to glare at Andy. The effect is lost, though, by the weakness of her anger. “Such a feeling is below me.”

You snort, sidling up to Andy. She grins and leans to stage-whisper in your ear, “I think she’s just jealous because you said ‘I love you’ to me first _and_ you complimented my outfit. You didn’t do that to her, and you know how Miranda loves attention.”

This time, both you and Miranda make noises of protests. “I do _not_ love attention.” 

“And I always pay attention to her!”

“Yeah, but have you told her lately? No,” Andy teases, drawing out the last vowel, “just me. ‘Cause you _love_ me.”

“You’re so annoying.” 

“And you love it,” Andy murmurs, drawing you in for a kiss. It starts off slow at first, but it grows and grows until Andy lets out a quiet moan. You break apart at that, your cheeks reddening even more when you feel Miranda’s eyes on you. 

“See what I mean?” When you both turn, Miranda avoids your gaze by studying her skirt, dusting off an invisible piece of lint. 

“Are you actually jealous?” You can’t help but twitch your mouth into a smile. Miranda Priestly, jealous? Pouting over not getting enough love? 

“I am no such thing!” There’s a definite bite to her words that you haven’t heard in a while. 

Your teasing could be taken as taunting, you realize, so you scoot closer to her, gently tugging her fingers away from her skirt. “I didn’t mean it that way.” 

Miranda exhales. “I know.” 

Your earlier question, as humorous as it was, lingers in your mind. If Miranda isn’t jealous, what is she? Bothered, for whatever reason?

“I just worry,” she says slowly, drawing out each word.

Miranda falls silent and you do too, sensing that she’ll open up if you give her time. Save for the whirring of the car engine, it is completely quiet. You’re in your own world, hidden by the tinted windows and held by the women you love. Hopefully, Miranda will be able to relax if she thinks about that, too. There's no one but you and Andy. 

“I just worry,” she says again, turning her gaze to meet yours. Her eyes are not as sharp as you expect; they are clouded over as if she is in a different world. 

That world, wherever it is, is not what you want her to be. So, you reach up to touch her cheek, and that brings Miranda back to you. Clarity rushes back, but you still see some uncertainty. 

“About what?”

“You and Andrea are very close.” Your brows furrow. That’s not exactly what you expected to hear, and by the shift behind you, Andy seems to agree with your thinking. 

“This …” Miranda trails off, waving her hand in the air, “it comes so naturally to you both. Playful teasing and oaths of love are second nature to Andrea. Romance, too, is familiar with you, dear heart. And I worry …”

“Yes?” You’re not exactly sure where Miranda is going with her uncharacteristic airy double-talk, and it makes your brows furrow even more. 

Miranda quirks her lips into a smile, touching—no, caressing the wrinkle caused by your frown until you relax. “Andrea, no doubt, had a way with words. She uses her gift in many ways, but the most impactful is with you, darling. To reassure you. To make you believe in her love, no matter what. I am somewhat unfamiliar and inarticulate in those same situations. I can promise you the world, but is it enough?” The sharpness in her eyes comes back, and she juts her chin forward. “Am I enough to help you?”

You forget to breathe for a moment. Having worked for Miranda so long, you know how to read between the lines and break down her monologues into bullet points. 

Here are the things you hear. One, Andy uses her eloquence to calm you down. Two, Miranda thinks she can’t do the same. Three, Miranda would give you the world (and you need to think about that later). Four, she worries she can’t help you. It all leads to five: she thinks she’s not enough because she can’t reassure you like Andy can.

During your silence, all the bluster leaves Miranda as she switches to fiddling with her bracelet, shoulders hunched over. She can’t meet your eyes and watching her, it dawns on you just how _lucky_ you are. This is not the Ice Queen or the Dragon Lady. This is Miranda, _your_ Miranda, choosing to let herself be seen. 

If you weren’t completely in love with her before, you are now.

You press yourself against her, lightly resting your hand on hers. She stops her motions and turns her head, focusing on a point behind your shoulder. 

“Miranda,” you whisper. Anything louder would shatter the stillness of the car. 

“Emily?” The way Miranda murmurs your name is similar to Andy’s—an almost sultry drawl of vowels and constants. It sends shivers down your spine. 

You press your forehead to hers. How can you find the words to describe how much she means to you? “You’re enough.” At your first words, Miranda sags against you, and you can’t help but hold her closer. “It doesn’t matter to me if you fumble with your words. I notice how you order my favourite foods and distract me enough so I can eat. Not only that, but you’re also always so patient. Whenever I’m having trouble with my thoughts, you’re the first one to hold me without a word. You’re here, whenever I need you. And I need you, Miranda. I really do.”

“But if I can’t tell you, how will you believe me?” Miranda searches your eyes, needing more reassurance than ever. “How will you trust me? I can’t …”

“You can. You do. You already do, love. Trust _me_.” 

“I do. I do, you know I do—” You capture Miranda’s lips in a kiss, but unlike the one with Andy, this is slower. Gentler, more reassuring than anything else. A little whine escapes her when you break away, and once you hear it, you delve in again and again. 

Finally, Miranda shivers and pulls away but remains close to you. 

“We all have our own love languages, Mira,” Andy says from behind you. “That doesn’t mean you love Em less; all it means is you love her in a different way.”

“Yes,” Miranda breaths out. “That sounds wise. I’m not sure why I haven’t thought of it in that way.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You caress her cheek, stroking your thumb over soft skin. “I know I don’t have enough words for my emotions, too.”

“No, darling, if you insist I hold no blame, then you also hold no blame.” Miranda seems to melt into your touch, kissing your palm. “Forgive me for breaking down like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“None of that now. I don’t want you to ever apologize for telling me your worries.” You tap her chin with your thumb, drinking in the sight of Miranda’s slow smile. “Isn’t that one of the reasons you sent me here? To work on my problems? You can grow, too, if you try. Try, please? For me, Mira?” Usually, that’s Andy’s pet name for her, but it feels right in the moment.

“Anything for you.” There’s a light flush on Miranda’s cheeks and, god, she looks so beautiful. No, she is the epitome of beauty, a goddess that rivals Aphrodite herself.

“Thank you.” You kiss Miranda again before scooting over to Andy. When you tilt your head back to see her expression, all the wind is knocked out of you. Her smile isn’t the mischievous, joyful smile you’re used to. This one is tender, oh so tender, and you will do anything to see it again. To have her bless your rough edges with a loving smile and soft, warm eyes. 

Your thoughts must be written all over your face, for Andy’s eyes get even gentler if that’s possible. One of you intertwines your hands together, but the important thing is that they’re _together_. 

This is your life now, you absentmindedly muse. A life of love. Of tenderness. Of growth. It is certainly not a bad life at all. Not anymore.

**IV.**

“Afternoon, Doctor.” You’re the first to speak, which prompts a smile from Dr. Khan.

“Good afternoon, Emily. What’s been on your mind lately?” Like usual, you have a cup of tea in your hands while you slump against the snug chair.

“Oh, you know. Just crippling anxiety and a tendency to fixate on my most humiliating mistakes.” You wave your hand airly in a Miranda-esque style. “So nothing much.”

“Ah, just a regular day, then?” Her mouth twitches. 

“Something like that.” You exchange wry smiles and a feeling of _knowing_ washes over you again. You know how lucky you are to live this life; you know how lucky you are to have a therapist that understands you, and you certainly know how lucky you are to be loved by Andy and Miranda.

“Let’s talk about it then.”

You sigh, adjusting your body posture. It’ll be good to get everything off your chest, but you always end up having a breakdown, so. 

The good comes with the bad, you suppose. 

“I have noticed you have a tendency to be somewhat high-strung.”

You snort. Like you haven’t heard that one before. “True.”

“Why do you think that’s so?”

“God. I mean, I’ve always been this way, believe it or not. I had to get out of dreary Bath—my hometown in England—if I wanted to make something out of myself. So, I was the best of the best in school, kept myself out of trouble, and at first chance, boarded a ship here. I had a couple of brief internships that kept me from being homeless, but I knew if I made a mistake someone would end up paying for it. Usually me.” You shrug. “Now, there are so many deadlines to meet, criteria to follow, and people to suck up to that I need to bring my A-game.” You try to stop it, but a small smile grows on your face. “Bringing your A-game” is a phrase Andy uses all the time. Seems it rubbed off.

“But doesn’t it get tiring? Having to constantly be on your guard?” 

“Well, yeah, but I manage to scrape by.”

“Scrape by,” Dr. Khan repeats, leaning forward. “Don’t you want more than that? I know you love your job, so shouldn’t you love being there too?”

“I—”

What can you say in response? No sane person would say no. But don’t you love the experience already? You do. Sure, you do. 

“Of course, but … I do already. I don’t have any enemies or anything. I’m not Miranda Priestly for Christ’s sake.”

Dr. Khan nods agreeably. “Of course you’re not. But shouldn’t that lack of competition contribute to a less stressful environment?”

You chew your lip. As much as you hate to admit it, Dr. Khan has a point. There’s no Irv to cause trouble or stockholders who think you need to be a perfect doll. That’s not to underestimate the complete stupidity of your staff sometimes—there’s no denying that—but no one’s deliberately sabotaging you. Everyone wants to succeed in making _Runway_ the best it can be.

“You might be right,” you mumble before sighing. “It’s just—there are no direct threats to me, that’s true, but there are the everyday pressures that worry me. What about those?”

“I’m glad you asked, Emily.” She leans forward, and you mirror her movements without thinking about it. “I feel that a large part of your anxiety comes from being perceived as a bad worker. But look at your career. You’ve managed to successfully navigate difficult situations, and that’s why you’re Creative Director at Runway. 

When pressures arrive, I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion. That’s not a question. But some of the troubles you mentioned—meeting strict deadlines or coworkers not making an effort—are completely out of your control. That may seem scary or discouraging, but if you can’t control those events, why worry about them? 

And I know all of this is easier said than done, but you need to just _relax_. Let yourself be present in the moment and breathe. It’s so obvious that you love your job, and that’s great. Focus on that love, professionally and personally and you’ll be alright. It might help if you find a hobby that calms you down, too. Take it from me, it’ll work wonders.”

“A hobby, huh?” A slow smile starts to grow on your face. You know exactly what you’re going to do.

* * *

You take a step back, placing your hands on your hips as you gaze at your handiwork. A smile blooms on your face when you look at the sunflower seeds because, well—

“Hey, sweetheart.” Andy sneaks up behind you and presses kisses to your neck. 

“You’re going to ruin your clothes!” With a grin, you pull away, trying to dust off Andy’s blouse, but when she pulls you back into her arms, you relent. 

“I don’t care.” You spend a couple of moments swaying to music only you two can hear, Andy humming quietly under her breath. She toys with the hair on the back of your neck, and you sigh, melting into her embrace. “What were you smiling about, huh?”

“The sunflowers.” 

“Oh, yeah, they’re going to be nice when they grow super tall.”

“Taller than you, love.” 

“Ah, no. Way taller than you, baby. You’re the shortie in the relationship.”

“I am not!” You pull back, unable to stop the huge grin on your face. “Miranda is!”

You both howl with laughter, pressing your foreheads together as a matching smile appears on Andy’s face. She goes back to playing with your hair as you easily meld your body into hers. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Don’t let who hear you say what?” The door to the backyard shuts and you already know who it is without moving from your position. 

“Nothing, Miranda.” Your reply comes out a bit muffled, as you’ve moved to nuzzle Andy’s neck. 

“Andrea?”

“Absolutely nothing, sweetheart.” Without actually looking, you know Andy has that silly, wide grin on her beautiful face. 

“Seeing as our dear Emily is feeling a bit rebellious today, please do me a favour by not making me ask again.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, Emily here was saying you were the shortie in our relationship.”

Dead silence. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly. The what, darling?”

“The shortie, sweetheart.” You bury your face in Andy’s shoulder, more out of a need to hide your laughter than anything else. You can just imagine Miranda’s face—lips pursed, eyebrow cocked to the high heavens, and the only thing that’s stopping you from cracking is Andy’s barely collected voice. “It’s not an insult or anything, I promise.”

It almost physically hurts not to look, so you do. You have to.

As you expected, Miranda is glaring at both of you, eyes ice-cold. Her arms are crossed, one finger twitching, and you can’t help but break. 

Andy manages to walk toward her, giggling all the whole. “Honey, your _face_. Don’t look at us like that. Please.”

You’re one step behind, though you do manage to keep some space between you and Miranda, not wanting to sully her new Versace blouse. She sees your hesitance (of course she does) and with an impatient jerk of her head, motions you closer. And closer. And even closer so she can wrap an arm around your waist. 

“Care to explain, my dear?” Any worries you might have had over actually offending Miranda disappears when you see a glint in her eyes, a wonderful, teasing glint.

“Well, I was just telling Andy that these sunflowers will grow up to be much taller than her.”

“I protested, naturally, because since Em is shorter than me, it’s obvious the flowers will loom over _her_.” 

“But we both realized that you, love, are the shortest out of all us. And that’s just the truth!”

“The truth, hmm?” Miranda says dryly, switching her gaze back and forth between you and Andy. “So these sunflowers, raised with compassion and care, remind you of me. Namely, my lacking height, which is, unfortunately, my Achilles heel. Don’t tell Irv.”

You and Andy burst into giggles again, and you’re not sure how it happens exactly, but you all end up in one loose embrace. You’re so busy cackling that you almost miss Miranda murmuring, “What am I going to do with you two, my darlings?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I have a couple of ideas.” Andy smirks, leaning toward Miranda with an eyebrow raised. 

“You’re incorrigible.” With a roll of your eyes, you place your head on Miranda’s shoulder, watching as she exchanges a kiss with Andy that’s all teeth and tongue. 

“I don’t suppose you have any better plans, baby.” Now Miranda has two heads resting on her shoulders, not to mention two bodies in her embrace. 

“Actually, before you derailed me—”

“Did not!”

“—I was going to mention that I planted sunflowers because …” You can feel your face heat up, and you press your face deeper into Miranda’s shoulder. “They remind me of you.”

“How so, honey?” All the flirtation from before has gone; if Andy was a predator slowly stalking toward you, she’s now a patiently waiting guardian trying to soothe a wild beast. 

“Sunflowers are bright and cheerful, aren’t they? So are you. So is your smile.” You shrug lamely, not daring to look at Andy. “You’re just very sunflower-y, I guess.”

“Baby . . .” Urged by a hand on your shoulder, you spin around and Andy is _there_ , a hair’s breadth between you. “That’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said about me.” You could get lost in her eyes, you think numbly. Lost in those affectionate, tender eyes that look at you like you deserve her. Like you deserve to be loved.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” This, you mumble as you lean into Andy’s warm chest. “Alright?”

That gets a chuckle out of her. “Alright, Em. Whatever you say.” She drags her finger to the top of your ribs, tracing _I love you_ down to your waist, and you grab her hand, squeezing twice. _I love you too._

You don’t want to get rid of this delightful buzz, so you turn to Miranda. She, you notice, looks at you the same way Andy does. It’s like her own little love confession, so you swallow hard, preparing to give one to her. 

“I planted something for you too, Miranda.”

“Yes?” Her eyes light up, making it apparent that she wanted something—not for herself, exactly. But a small gift too. 

“Roses.” You smile, finding the courage to face her. “They’re very beautiful and a classic. When they bloom, they’re the star of the garden. And they’re red, too, because that’s just you.” 

“Oh, I see.” Her words come out as a quiet sigh, and god, your heart aches for her. You will plant more flowers (like violets and tulips and hydrangeas) for Miranda if she wants. You will layer white marble steps throughout the garden, so she has an easy path to walk. You will make sure wherever she turns, she will see how often you think of her. (Always, always, always.)

_“Oh.”_ Perhaps your thoughts are written on your face because Miranda is looking in you in that tender way again. She reaches out—follows the curve of your lips with her thumb, traces the line of your jaw, rubs your cheek, then kisses you. 

Your lips are a benediction aimed at whatever deity out there to keep _this_ forever. Miranda’s are the answer to your prayer, the soothing balm to your unquenchable need. Perhaps you could have this love, this warmth that tingles underneath your skin. Perhaps you could. 

**V.**

You hum a nonsensical tune under your breath as you wait for Dr. Khan to finish making your tea. There are no verbal greetings today, just smiles and nods from both of you. Just how you liked it. 

Shifting a bit, you pull your leg up and tuck in below the other. You must look a bit silly sitting like some hipster girl from Brooklyn, but you don’t care (that much). You’re too busy rearranging your scattered thoughts into something cohesive. 

When Dr. Khan makes herself comfortable, setting down your cup of tea on the table, you finally have a grasp on your mind. Somewhat. 

“How was your week? Did you find something to calm you down in your free time?” She crosses her legs, taking a sip out of her own cup.

“Yes, actually. I’ve always wanted to have a little garden, but in my old apartment, there wasn’t a background. The best thing I could do was buy some succulents. But now that I’ve moved in with Miranda, her house has more than enough space.” You try to ignore the blush that rises to your cheeks. Although you view the townhouse as home (because it is), telling people just makes it more real. “Anyway, I’ve planted some sunflowers, some tomatoes, some roses, and some basil plants. It helps.”

It really does. Touching the dirt and getting your hands dirty and being all sweaty is so contrary to your job. Perhaps that’s why you like it so much. Gardening is soothing, yes, and an outlet for all the pent-up anger and frustration you carry around.

“I’m happy to hear that. It seems like you’re doing very well lately.” She tilts her head, smiling warmly.

“I am.” You smile, but it slowly fades. “But I do have doubts still.”

“Oh? About anything in particular?”

You look down into your cup, swirling it around like you might find some hidden answers. Or not even answers—maybe just a sign. Something to help you get your mind set straight and put being worried behind you. 

“Have you ever worried that you were becoming too happy?” You frown, setting down your cup on the table, and lean back to stare at the ceiling. That wasn’t it exactly. There’s no such thing as becoming too happy, in your opinion, but the effects are another story. “I mean, you climb this cliff, right? You climb this cliff higher and higher, and there’s no end to this cliff but you feel like you’re _there_ already. Even with the scars on your hands and the blisters on your feet and the fatigue you feel, you’re glad to be so high. You don’t even care if you're on this cliff for the rest of your life. So you reach up to grab a new hold and _bam_.” Your eyes meet, and Dr. Khan inclines her head, something in her gaze saying _I see you_. 

“You fall. It’s not a nice fall either. You’re scraping against the rocks, trying to hold on, but you get turned around so you see the ground one second before you make contact. Just one second.” 

“Ouch.”

“Ouch indeed. So what wise words do you have for me, Doctor?” Bitterness tinges your chuckle, along with desperation, but you try not to think about that. Who thinks about being too happy, anyway? Are you going insane? Do insane people think they’re going insane? 

Thankfully, Dr. Khan stops you from spiraling even more. “I think, Emily, that you’re not afraid of being too happy. You’re afraid of losing the things that make you happy.”

And when she puts it that way.

Well.

“Yeah.” You toe the floor. “I think you’re right.”

You hope she doesn’t ask how that makes you feel or why you think that. You can’t take that right now. You don’t want to think. It may seem maudlin, but can’t you just hold a pity party for yourself? For just five minutes?

You’re pleased to say that Dr. Khan leaves you alone. Somewhat. “You’re doing extraordinarily well of late with your anxiety and communication. I hope you won’t mind if I guess and say that your relationship with your two partners is improving?” At your small nod, she continues. “It seems your happiness is increasing, or you’re climbing the cliff, so to speak. But if you stop communicating or go back to harmful eating, then you’ll be falling from the cliff. Correct?” Another nod from you. “But the thing is, you probably will find it difficult to communicate from time to time. You might decide to stop eating for one day. You might let your anxiety get the better of you.”

“Is this supposed to help me?” you ask dully. 

Dr. Khan smiles gently, leaning forward. “This is supposed to tell you that you will make mistakes because you are _human_. There is nothing wrong with falling as long as you get back up. It’s completely understandable to be afraid, but you are alive. You are a living, breathing human with wants and desires. There is nothing else to do but go forward and live.”

Go forward and live, huh? You could do that.

* * *

“Andy?” 

“Yeah, baby?” Andy grunts as she gets in the car, her hand on the door. 

It’s probably not the best time to ask, but still. “Do you think we have a good relationship?”

She makes a sputtering sound and jolts up, hitting her head on the roof in the process. The door swings back open, and you can’t help but fall back into your seat with laughter.

“What the heck does that mean? Are you worried about something? Wait, no, are we breaking up?” 

“Absolutely not.” Miranda’s flat tone leaves no room for argument, and you’re already reaching out to reassure her. 

“Both of you calm down. I was just asking, loves. No need to worry.” Miranda searches your eyes, relaxing after finding no evidence of deception. 

“Why? Was it something in therapy?” Andy asks, rubbing her head.

“Oh, she doesn’t have to tell us if she doesn’t want to,” Miranda snaps. But she does toss a worried glance your way. Out of the three of you, she’s the one who’s still the most sensitive to any discussion about breakups.

“It’s fine, Mira.” You scoot into her personal space, gladly intertwining your hands. “Well, I was just discussing being worried about losing the things that make me happy.”

“Like us, you mean?” Andy takes your other hand.

“Like you.”

“I feel the same way often, actually.” When Miranda speaks, her gaze is studiously focused on your hands, though she does look at you for a few seconds. 

“Do you really?” This comes as a surprise to you. “But you’re so self-assured, it seems like you have the whole world in the palm of your hand.”

“Yes.” Her eyes meet yours, the bright intensity in them taking your breath away. “You are my world. And that is why I am so afraid of losing you.” 

When she puts it like that, your fears make complete sense.

“I see,” you mumble. 

“I am a shell of myself with you and Andrea gone. That is why I try so desperately to keep you. The alternative may or may not happen, but you are here with me right now. You put my mind to rest; I do not care about anything else.”

“I feel the same way.” To some, Andy’s words may seem like a paltry offering, but it hits you just as hard as Miranda’s words do. How could it not?

The dizzying feeling of climbing the cliff comes back again, but this time, it’s like you’re at the top, balancing on the precipice. There’s no place to go but down. You’re breathless and _falling_ , falling down, down, down. But they’re to catch you right before you fall.

“Me too.” You never were one for words, but your vow comes out right somehow.

“You’re sure?” Miranda, similarly to you, teeters on her own cliff. “We won’t be mad if …”

“I’m sure.” Your promise makes all the tension seep away in the car seep away. It’s you three against the world now, ready to support each other to the very end. 

Love—loving and being loved in return—is difficult. You know that already. You will make mistakes, many of them. You know that too. But you will also try your best. And that will be enough. 

* * *

_“You do not have to be good._

_You do not have to walk on your knees_

_for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting._

_You only have to let the soft animal of your body_

_love what it loves._

_Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” — Wild Geese,_ Mary Oliver

  
  



End file.
